


It's (never) only play-pretend

by majoline, MemeKon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Collaboration, Cover Art, Everybody Lives, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Matchmaking, Music, Mutual Pining, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 45-60 Minutes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majoline/pseuds/majoline, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/pseuds/MemeKon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And so you thought getting a fake boyfriend was the perfect solution.”</p><p>Stiles scrunches his nose at him.</p><p>“When you say it like that it sounds like a terrible idea.”</p><p>Derek doesn’t say a thing, just <i>looks</i> at Stiles.</p><p>“He was supposed to back off, okay? Like a ‘yay, Stiles finally found someone desperate enough to date his sorry ass, I can finally retire from the matchmaking business’ thing.”</p><p>(Or: the one in which Stiles and Derek are the worst fake boyfriends.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's (never) only play-pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Music Credit: [Carefree by Kevin MacLeod](http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1400037)

[Or right click and save link to download MP3 from kiwi6.com](http://k003.kiwi6.com/hotlink/fv1ocjwt2n/it_s_never_only_play-pretend.mp3)

Chapters: 1  
Format: MP3  
Length: 00:49:51  
Size: 45.7 MB 

  


Grzegorz keeps looking at Derek all through dinner, assessing, even when he makes light conversation with John and smiles fondly at Stiles’ heavily edited retelling of his year. Lots more coursework, a lot less homicidal people and assorted creatures of the night.

Derek tries to not let it get to him, because it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be bothered by whether one of John’s (apparently) oldest friends and most beloved people in Stiles’ life approves of him, it shouldn’t make him feel inadequate, uncomfortable and too everything wrong. 

John keeps looking at him with this tilt to his lips and this soft look in his eyes when Grzegorz and Stiles aren’t paying them attention, like he knows this must be uncomfortable as hell for Derek but doesn’t currently have a way to help him.

He’d tried telling them this was gonna backfire on them, that it was gonna blow up all over their faces. Stiles had waved his concerns away, had sat him down and buttered him up with the promise of some more or less unhealthy foods for future family dinners so he’d play along.

“And you’re okay with this?” The sheriff had asked Derek, and Stiles had looked at him with his mouth agape, the aggravation that his dad was talking so deliberately around him palpable. It had made Derek smirk at the sheriff, he’d given him a nod and a shrug and a quiet _yeah_.

Grzegorz looks at him when Stiles gets up from the table to get some more beer cans for him and his dad, the tension solidifying as Stiles ruffles through the fridge and mutters half sentences to himself; his grunts and half formed words, however, are soothing to Derek as Grzegorz leaves his cutlery on his plate and looks at him with his lips in a tight line, and he doesn’t want to delve much on why, because this is fucked up as it is. 

“So,” the sheriff starts, and he’s loud and garish and Derek has the sudden and irrational desire to hide behind him. “How’s the house refurbishing going?”

“Great,” the man smiles at the sheriff shortly, but then looks back at Derek, “So, Derek. It’s Derek, right? How long have you and Stiles known each other? I can’t help but notice you’re a tad bit older than our boy.”

“Oh my God, Greg, stop,” Stiles tells him as he comes back into the dining room juggling some cans in his hands. “So embarrassing, oh my God. Dad, why aren’t you playing intermediary here?”

“Hey, now!” Grzegorz says as Stiles hands him a beer, “Don’t talk to me like that, young man, I just have your best interests in mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Dad, you have to stop buying old man beer. It tastes like piss.”

Grzegorz breaks out into a loud, bellowing laugh that makes Derek wince. 

 

Derek can _feel_ him coming all the way up, can smell him and hear his heartbeat as he comes out of the elevator, can tell how nervous he is by the particular way he’s walking, the irregular stomps of his feet. He isn’t surprised as Stiles breaks into his apartment, but is a little surprised at the way he feels when Stiles takes in his appearance, mouth dropped open and eyes trailing all over. Derek had time to change from his soft, worn pajama pants into something less revealing but didn’t. 

That says a lot about the state of himself. He doesn’t want to let himself think too much about it, though, so he sits down on his couch, blows some steam off his cup of tea, and asks Stiles what he’s doing here.

Stiles nods a couple times at him, looks dazed as he takes a few steps towards the couch himself and lets his eyes wander down Derek’s chest and abs before snapping them back to his face, his already ruddy cheeks going a deep red.

“Grzegorz didn’t buy it. We have to up the ante.”

He looks so genuinely disgruntled that Derek feels himself mirroring the emotion a little bit.

“What do you mean he didn’t buy it?”

Stiles drops next to him on the couch and Derek’s fast thinking and reflexes are the only thing that saves him from spilling his cup all over himself. He pinches Stiles’ arm in retaliation and Stiles hisses at him before throwing his head back and covering his eyes with his arm, dramatic like the little shit he is.

“He didn’t. Buy it. Tried to set me up with the cashier at the grocery store today. I can’t go there anymore, Derek. I’ll have to fucking starve. Retreat deep into the preserve, live on bunnies and deer and--”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“You don’t get it, dude. It was so embarrassing. He pulled out the baby pics. Held the line up for like ten minutes. At least twelve people saw my butt.”

Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to not let out a smile.

“Oh my God, dude, I can _feel_ your malicious glee. I don’t even need to see your stupid smirking face.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his tea, lets himself stretch his legs and curl his toes.

“I don’t think you should be talking to your _boyfriend_ that way, Stiles.”

Stiles punches him lightly on the shoulder with the hand he’d been using to emulate an olden times heroine.

“My _fake_ boyfriend. And not even a convincing one at that, Jesus.”

Stiles isn’t being serious about it, there’s a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but Derek still feels the words like a punch in the solar plexus. He goes back to Grzegorz looking at him over the Stilinskis’ table, assessing him and apparently not finding whatever it was he wanted to find in him.

“We’ll give him convincing,” he says, in a fit of something he can’t describe, something hurt and ugly.

Stiles looks up at him with astonishment for a few seconds, but finally he just shakes his head a few times and gives him a wide smirk and an eyebrow wiggle that looks as ridiculous on him as it did five years ago when he was a snotty seventeen year old.

“I like it when you get all combative, big guy. Gets me all hot and bothered”

Derek ‘accidentally’ spills his (lukewarm) tea all over Stiles’ jeans, and Stiles is up and yelping and tripping all over his feet before he actually notices the tea is mostly cold.

“You absolute _dickwad_.”

“Oops, babe,” he replies, deadpan.

 

Stiles leaves in the tightest fitting jeans Derek owns and they still look loose on him.

Derek rubs his beard all over Stiles’ neck when they’re at the door, holds Stiles’ hips and Stiles goes stiff beneath his hands.

When he’s done rubbing himself all over Stiles’ throat and a bit of his collarbone, dragging his shirt to expose more of him, pale and covered in moles, he pulls back and stares at the way Stiles’ skin is pinkening up, getting a little splotchy from the rough treatment.

“For credibility,” he tells a bewildered Stiles, and gives him a soft push to set him into motion.

He also stares at his ass as he leaves, because even though they are looser on him than they ever were on Derek, those jeans still try to valiantly cling to the roundness there.

That’s between him and his conscience, though.

(And his right hand when he takes a shower some time later.)

 

Derek shows up at the station at about six. Stiles had sent him a text requiring his presence **‘URGENTLY DUDE I MEAN NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!’** ten or so minutes ago. He’d been doing dishes, so the hem of his shirt is wet and the sleeves of his henley are rolled up inside his leather jacket. 

When he steps inside Tara greets him with a wave from the main desk and then she points him towards the sheriff’s office, rolling her eyes at him with a tiny smile.

He nods at her in return and walks to the office.

He can already hear Stiles inside, mortified about something. There’s also Grzegorz, which is not surprising, and… Parrish?

He frowns at that and knocks on the door.

He focuses on Stiles’ voice, on his muffled _why do you have to do this every single time?_ , Parrish’s nervous laugh, and Grzegorz’ strong voice as he says _oh, come on boy, this is a handsome one, isn’t he?_

The sheriff opens the door and gives a sigh of relief when he sees it’s him, mutters a _thanks, Lord_ under his breath as he lets him in.

Grzegorz turns around from where he’s talking at Parrish to look at him, and he seems displeased. Which makes Derek feel a little angry. That this man has already decided that he’s unworthy of Stiles and that his presence makes him look like he’s having a case of indigestion is frankly enraging.

It also makes something in the pit of his stomach clench, timid and tiny, and a little miserable. 

Stiles almost throws himself bodily at him, arms around his shoulders before he’s even all the way in.

“Go along with this,” he whispers, and then he dislodges from Derek only to grab at his face with both hands and kiss him.

It’s merely a brush of lips, a light, chaste thing. That doesn’t stop it from sending tendrils of warmth all over him, doesn’t stop him from putting his hand on Stiles’ waist and pressing back, obeying the call of Stiles’ body without giving it much conscious thought.

Somebody clears their throat behind them and they part, slowly. Stiles’ eyes are closed, his eyelashes fan prettily over his pale skin, and Derek has to stop himself from just leaning in and kissing his eyelids, brushing his lips over the thin skin to make Stiles shudder. Stiles opens his eyes before he can do it, though, and Derek thinks that it’s better that way.

“Derek,” Grzegorz breaks him out of his thoughts, “nice to see you again.”

“You too, sir.” He replies. He nods towards Parrish, “Jordan.”

Parrish seems slightly stunned, and keeps looking between Stiles and him. 

“Derek,” he replies finally, going for a polite smile. “It’s nice to see you around.”

“Okay, ” Stiles interrupts, “my _boyfriend_ and I had plans here, so we’ll be leaving you to your business, okay? Okay! Have a great day. Put lots of bad guys away, file lots of paperwork, that kind of thing.”

Neither Derek nor anyone else gets a word in edgewise (and doesn’t Grzegorz look like he wants one) before Stiles is holding his hand and dragging him through the door.

 

Once they are outside, Stiles drags the hand he’s not using to hold onto Derek’s like a vise, through his face, sighs into it and makes a growling noise that has Derek squeezing his hand in sympathy. 

Stiles squeezes back and lets his other hand drop.

“He doesn’t-- He means well, you know? He’s a good guy. ”

Derek can’t help snorting at that and Stiles gets this frustrated look on his face.

“Look, can we-- let’s do this somewhere else? Somewhere where Greg and dad, and Jordan, let’s not kid ourselves here, can’t spy on us?”

Derek shrugs at him, doesn’t really know what ‘this’ is, but can tell Stiles needs the company. And, well, there’s worse things he could be doing with his day than spending it with Stiles.

“I brought the camaro.” 

Stiles smiles at him.

“Trying to earn coolness points? Not gonna get you very far, buddy, Greg is a bike man. He knows literally nothing about cars except how to drive one and how to take it to a garage when it starts sounding funny.”

Derek feels his ears go warm as he rolls his eyes at Stiles.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breaks out into a grin as they start walking towards Derek’s car, “you did. You wanted to _impress_ Greg with your flashy bad boy car.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Derek tells him as he gets his car keys out of his jacket’s pocket.

“Oh, come on, baby, I’m sure we can work this out. Every rose has its thorn and all that.” Stiles says and simpers at him and Derek smirks; the expression almost drops from his face when Stiles holds up their entwined hands and kisses the back of Derek’s, batting his eyelashes at him coquettishly. 

Derek smacks Stiles on the nose with both their hands.

 

They end up at Stiles’ favorite diner. Derek only knows this fact because Stiles won’t shut up about their curly fries, so once he’s pulling off the curve, he starts taking them there on instinct. 

The girl who takes their orders greets Stiles with a kiss on the cheek. Stiles leans into the contact and Derek feels something ugly and bitter on his chest.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us, _babe_?” 

He’s honed the skill of making himself sultry, honey sweet and attractive, and he turns his charm up to a hundred, reaches out for Stiles’ hand and rubs his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles, gives the waitress a show.

Stiles looks down at where Derek is very deliberately holding his hand, loose but sure, and gets a quiet and naked expression for a moment there that Derek doesn’t know how to catalog before it’s gone.

Stiles clears his throat and looks up at him, licks his lips and squints at him a little, squeezes his hand. Derek squeezes back, lets his feet look for Stiles’ under the table.

“Derek, this is a childhood friend, Heather.” He looks up at the waitress and gives her an apologetic smile. “Heather, this is my ridiculous boyfriend, Derek. He never learned how to share his toys in kindergarten.”

Heather laughs softly at that, and then hits Stiles over the head with her pad.

“Pleased to meet you,” she tells him. “I don’t know why you put up with him.”

“He makes it up to me,” he tells her, lewd enough that her cheeks go flushed.

“The usual!” Stiles says then, loud enough that people at the other tables turn to give him disapproving looks. “For the both of us. His without onions. Mine with extra cheese. A milkshake for me. An iced tea for him.”

Heather repeats the order after Stiles and smiles at him once more before leaving for the kitchen.

“Thanks for ordering for me, honey, I wouldn’t have been able to do that on my own.”

“Oh, shut up.” Stiles grunts at him. “What the hell was that?”

Derek shrugs.

“We’re supposed to be convincing, right? Don’t you think Grzegorz will notice something’s wrong if nobody else thinks we’re together?”

Stiles rubs the bridge of his nose, then looks down at where their hands are still clasped together over the table. His eyes go soft.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know.”

Stiles tries to kick him under the table. Derek doesn’t hold his smirk back when he accidentally ends up kicking the table’s post and hissing in pain.

“You wanted to talk about something?” He asks then, reclining on the booth and throwing one of his arms over the back of it , making the tacky vinyl under him squeak; Stiles glares at him and reaches down for his foot with his free hand. He’s half contorted over himself and it feels very reminiscent of times past, when Stiles was going around throwing himself at dangerous things with sharp pointy fangs hoping for the best (even while expecting the worst).

Stiles tries to rub his toe over his sneakers, muttering abuse at him under his breath. 

Derek draws some of his pain away.

 

Stiles is a disgusting eater. Derek already knows this. Has seen him cram as many curly fries into his mouth as he can, has seen him choke on them, and has seen Scott having to do a Heimlich on him to save his skinny ass from asphyxiation.

It never gets any less surprising, however. 

Or disgusting.

Or the tiniest bit endearing.

Derek takes a sip from his iced tea so he won’t give in to the temptation of leaning over the table and wiping some ketchup from the corner of Stiles’ mouth with his thumb, or kissing it away. It’s a dumb impulse, anyway.

“He is my dad’s best friend.” Stiles says after depleting half of his burger. He takes a sip from his milkshake through his straw, cheeks all hollowed and lips all pink, and Derek has to look down at his own food. “They went to the academy together. And then they started working here together.”

Derek nods along, eats a curly fry and licks at his greasy fingers once he’s swallowed it. Stiles traces the movement, and Derek feels hot all over.

“And?” He prompts him, because he doesn’t know how else to deal with whatever this between them is, right now. 

Stiles eats one of his own fries, then. Chews it thoroughly, and taps at his half empty milkshake glass.

“And he-- he really is a good guy, okay? He introduced dad to mom. And he was always over when I was young. Grilled some mean steaks.”

Stiles’ voice goes quieter the more he talks, and Derek can already tell where this is going, feels a hollow ache for him. He lets his hand cover Stiles’ where it’s next to his milkshake glass. 

“When mom got sick he-- he really came through for us, okay? He used to trade shifts with dad so he could be with mom, or get her to the hospital. He babysat me a lot. He let me watch the shows mom and dad wouldn’t, you know? Like, the cop procedurals and that kind of stuff.” He’s smiling, sad and nostalgic, and tinged with loss all over. Derek isn’t good at letting people know he understands their losses, isn’t great at comforting people, so he lets the hand that’s on top of Stiles’ do the talking for him. Lets it press a little harder, so Stiles will feel how alone he isn’t. 

“Dad didn’t tell me this, you know? But we were running on a pretty tight budget back then. And I know Greg helped us out when things got a bit too tight, I know he loaned my dad some money. Helped us pay some hospital bills.” 

Derek wants to tell him _that doesn’t mean you’re indebted to him_ but he gets better than anyone what pride like that is, what _gratitude_ like that feels like, and how knowing things like this, intellectually, doesn’t mean much. 

He takes his hand from over Stiles’ after giving it one last squeeze and takes a bite of his burger.

“And what’s with all the matchmaking?” 

It’s the right question to ask. It makes Stiles light up in embarrassment and fondness and a touch of exasperation. 

“So, a year or so after mom--,” he stops there, takes a breath, “a year or so after mom died, he got transferred. It was hard. Both for dad and for me. And for him too, I guess.”

Derek waits him out as he seems to sort his jumbled thoughts out to put them into words, eats some more, is actually a little surprised by how good the food is.

“And then we only saw him once every four or five months. If even that. And then a few years later he got married. We attended the wedding. It was spring themed, flowers everywhere.”

Stiles smiles at the memory, Derek bites on a smile of his own.

Then Stiles gets tight around the lips.

“It didn’t last.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Derek doesn’t ask.

“I was thirteen or fourteen by then. He started adding the girlfriend questions to our meetings then. And I was completely in love with Lydia Martin by then so that was that.”

“But once I turned seventeen and Lydia was mostly out of the picture for me, not that she ever _was_ really in the picture, he started trying to set me up with his co workers’ kids . We’d go visit with dad and he’d make me run errands for him, and they’d be _blind dates_ , Derek.”

Derek snorts at that. Stiles grabs the balled up wrapper from his straw and throws it at him.

“Oh my God, shut up. It was the fucking worst.” He hides his face behind his hands and groans.

“And then he found out I am bisexual and it got worse.”

“And why don’t you tell him to lay off?”

“I don’t know, man. I’d feel like an asshole? I don’t wanna be an asshole to my dad’s best friend.”

“And so you thought getting a fake boyfriend was the perfect solution.”

Stiles scrunches his nose at him.

“When you say it like that it sounds like a terrible idea.”

Derek doesn’t say a thing, just _looks_ at Stiles.

“He was supposed to back off, okay? Like a ‘yay, Stiles finally found someone desperate enough to date his sorry ass, I can finally retire from the matchmaking business’ thing.”

“He doesn’t seem fond of me,” Derek says, and as soon as the words are out he wants to take them back, because it makes him sound pitifully vulnerable.

“It’s not you,” Stiles tells him, and he looks soft, ducks his head a little and looks at Derek from under his eyelashes. “You’re a great boyfriend. He’s just over protective and old.”

Derek doesn’t correct him, and Stiles doesn’t seem to notice the slip up; or, if he does, doesn’t care enough to address it.

 

Derek pays for their meal and kisses Stiles before they’re through the door, a hand carding through his hair.

He doesn’t try to kid himself that it’s for anyone other than him.

Stiles keeps sparing glances at Derek all the drive home, makes them fast and short like he thinks he’s being furtive. 

The sheriff and Grzegorz are having a beer sitting on the porch when Derek parks at the front of the house, Stiles rolls the window down and waves at them.

“We’re having a barbeque the day after tomorrow,” Stiles tells him then, he’s looking at his keyring, suddenly acting shy, and it makes Derek feel fumbly and awkward himself, “Greg wants to meet my friends. And dad wants steak. It was two to one.”

“Okay,” he replies to the silent question there, and Stiles looks up at him with a lopsided smile. 

“Okay,” Stiles repeats, nodding, before getting out of the car.

The window’s still rolled down, and Stiles leans through it.

“Hey, Derek.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles reaches through and grabs at his arm, pulls at him, and Derek follows without noticing. 

The kiss is a little uncomfortable, Derek twisted on himself, with the gear shift jabbing itself on his thigh and hip, and Stiles is bent at an awkward angle, half inside the car.

He’s pretty sure neither Greg nor the sheriff can actually see them kissing, but he’s also pretty sure Stiles didn’t intend this to be for them.

He licks at Stiles’ lips, bites at the bottom one and tugs at it gently. Stiles drags his lips over Derek’s and sucks his top one in for a second before he’s pulling away.

“See you around, big guy.”

 

The next day he sleeps in and upon waking up he has four texts from Stiles:

_He tried to set me up with the guy from the auto shop_

_Dude is easily twice my age_

_I told him that and he said, and I quote, “really? he doesn’t look a day over thirty”_

_What. The. Fuck._

Derek laughs into his pillow, ignores the way jealousy sneaks up on him because it’s ridiculous.

 

The Stilinski backyard is packed full.

Stiles is at the grill with Greg, grumbling about his dad and cholesterol, and _only one steak, Greg, I mean it_ when he comes in.

The sheriff’s sitting down in one of the various mismatched lawn chairs strewn across the yard, Scott is sitting next to him. They are talking in quiet tones, Derek can hear them drop Kira’s name every now and then, and Scott gets this pleased look whenever it does, like the mere mention of her name makes him content. The sheriff rolls his eyes at him when he gets particularly starry eyed and takes lazy sips of his beer. He catches sight of Derek at one of those interludes and salutes him with his can. 

Kira is sitting with Malia all the way across the yard, they are huddled together, and Kira seems to be showing her something or other on her cellphone. Malia looks settled, at peace with her surroundings. She looks up at him when he stares at them for a couple more seconds, flashes him a quick, pointy smile. The way she leans more into Kira, how she rubs her nose on the top of her head, is a little wild. Kira looks up at her and gives her a dazzling smile, points at her cellphone, and when it almost slips out of her hands, Malia catches it for her.

Allison and Lydia are already sitting at the patio table. Allison keeps sneaking looks at where Isaac is, sitting on the grass with Erica and Boyd, sneaking glances back at her. Lydia keeps drawing back her attention, she seems pissed about something, Derek doesn’t listen in on their conversation, because much contrary to popular belief, he does learn from his mistakes.

Erica waves at him from where she is leaning against Boyd, holding his hand. Boyd gives him a soft, private smile. Isaac, at the other side of her, nods at him. A curt, small thing that’s still better than the cold indifference that had taken them over for a few months some years ago. 

He nods back at them, and is making his way there when Stiles intercepts him.

“He’s watching,” he whispers, and puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders, gives him a kiss that is harder than their previous ones.

_Everyone is watching_ , he would reply, if he could be articulate himself right now. 

As it is, he just holds onto Stiles’ hips, kisses him back with everything he’s got. When Stiles tries to draw himself back, he chases after him, pecks at his lips.

“Took your time, big guy,” Stiles says then. 

“Didn’t think jumping you first thing would go well with Grzegorz.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at him, holds his hand and drags him towards where Grzegorz is trying extra hard to glare a steak into submission. Derek suspects that particular one will end up charred and in his plate.

Derek can hear Erica catcalling them on their way, and Scott talking to the sheriff about how it’s about time, and the sheriff snorting in response. 

“So, Derek here is an excellent cook.” Stiles tells Grzegorz when they reach his side.

Grzegorz hums, looks over at Derek and gives him a contemplative once over. It’s just this side of rudely disregarding and it both raises Derek’s hackles and makes him want to retreat over to where the sheriff and Scott are, so he can be sullen in peace.

“Really?”

The doubt in his voice makes Derek frown, and he only realizes how tight he’s gone when Stiles puts a hand on his lower back and he feels the tension start seeping out of him.

“Hey now, that’s really unfair of you. I’ll have you know Derek possesses a wide variety of talents.”

Derek can’t help leaning into Stiles, feeling the start of a blush at the way Stiles is defending him, looking honestly affronted in his behalf. 

Grzegorz lets out a mean snort as he flicks a steak.

“I can imagine.”

Derek feels cold all over once the implications of what the man said hit him, and he’s so shocked over it that he can’t even manage to get angry.

Stiles, however, can.

“Grzegorz, that was-- that was way out of line. You need to apologize to Derek.”

“That’s okay,” Derek hears himself say as he dislodges himself from Stiles’ grasp. “I’m going to the kitchen. There’s-- glasses. I need a glass.”

The sheriff is making his way towards them, a pinched look on his face.

When he’s within touching distance he puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, asks him, “are you okay, son?”, and Derek nods at him, keeps walking towards the house.

 

He’s drinking a glass of cold water when Stiles makes his way inside, stops some feet away from him. 

“I am so, so sorry for that, Derek. I, wow, that was shitty of him. And I’m sorry I let it escalate, okay?”

Derek nods at him, leaves the glass on the counter.

“That’s okay. People say shitty things when they are trying to protect their loved ones.”

Stiles looks down at his sneakers, shuffles his feet some.

“You don’t deserve Greg being shitty at you, okay? No matter what,” he says after a while, and looks contrite and small in a way that tugs at Derek’s heartstrings.

Derek gives Stiles a small, lopsided smile, walks up to him, so there are just some scarce inches between them. Stiles looks at him and lets out a gust of air that tickles at Derek’s nostrils. He lets his eyes go to Stiles’ parted, bitten pink lips. 

“You stood up to him for me.” It feels ridiculous to say it, voice barely a murmur, but it feels big and unstated and important. 

Stiles looks like he’s about to go on a heated tirade, like he thinks Derek is stupid for thinking of that as something big, like he kinda wants to smack him, punch him on the shoulder in frustration like he sometimes does when they’re having disagreements on pack meetings.

Derek doesn’t let him do more than let out an exasperated huff. Kisses the annoyance right off his lips, cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair and lets himself get lost in his presence, the scent of him, and the way he makes a muffled noise before kissing Derek back, the way his heart beats. Lets himself lick into Stiles’ mouth, lets himself enjoy Stiles because he wants, and because Stiles wants it back. Wants him back.

Stiles touches his forehead against Derek’s when they break the kiss. He smiles, and closes his eyes. Derek lets himself drink the sight of him in, from the fan of his eyelashes, to his moles, to the curl of his lips, to the splotchy red on his cheeks.

“We’re so bad at this. Worst fake boyfriends ever. One out of ten stars.”

Someone clears their throat behind them. Derek knows without turning to check that it’s Greg. 

“Derek, can we talk?”

Stiles turns around and looks at the man, he’s holding Derek’s henley bunched on his fist, and looks like he’s about to give Greg a piece of his mind. It’s touching, but the way Greg looks, drained and forlorn, and like he knows exactly how much he fucked up tells Derek it’s unnecessary. 

“It’s okay,” he tells Stiles, puts a hand on the back of his neck and gives him a comforting squeeze. “Wanna take my glass out there?” Stiles frowns at him, looks like he’s about to complain about being told to leave, so Derek throws a _babe_ in that’s sirupy and over the top and designed to annoy Stiles.

“Fine, whatever, _sugar_.” He walks out with Derek’s glass and Derek watches him go, follows the lines of him until he’s out of the house and making noise, yelling at Erica to stop killing his grass, and getting a crude rebuttal that makes Derek smirk.

“I’m sorry,” Grzegorz says, and it takes him slightly aback in its honesty. 

Derek looks at the man, truly looks at him, for the first time. He looks around the sheriff’s age, but there are wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, and he’s already got graying hairs, his dirty blond streaked with white. He looks bone tired.

“I was out of line,” the man says after a while.

“You were,” Derek replies, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Grzegorz looks pleasantly surprised at Derek. A smile bleeds onto his face. 

“You have to stop throwing Stiles at people. Respect that he’s a grownup, and that he can make his own choices. Whether you approve of them or not.” Derek tells him. 

Grzegorz nods at him, solemn. 

“You know,” he starts, gives Derek a smile that’s kinder and miles warmer than anything else he’s directed at him so far, “Stiles is a terrible liar. His entire face is a tell.”

Derek knows this, and also thinks he has a vague idea of where this is going; he feels like a kid caught with his hand down the cookie jar.

“I knew you two were faking from the beginning. And that doesn’t excuse my actions, but the way the boy looked at you.” He shakes his head, “That kid is sentimental, he takes after John.”

“And you thought I would break his heart?”

Grzegorz looks chastised.

“Maybe.” He laughs, “Mighty blind, I was. I was so caught up trying to look after the boy, that I forgot to look at you, too.” He rubs his jaw, the same way Derek has seen Stiles and the sheriff do on occasion, and it speaks of a deep seated familiarity. “You look at him the same way. The way John looked at Claudia.”

Derek is stunned into silence. 

“I will stop now.” He says, nodding at himself. “And once again, sorry. I got carried away.”

He turns around and walks away before Derek can say anything else.

It feels okay, anyway.

 

Turns out everyone brought their own lawn chairs. Which explains why they are mismatched. Isaac’s is almost ground level and Erica laughs at him for about five minutes for not reaching the patio table. Scott lends him his own chair and sits with Kira. Malia sits next to them.

Grzegorz sits next to the sheriff and they are both laughing at something, clank their cans every so often. 

“They are gonna end up so drunk,” Stiles whispers in his ear. It’s in vain, because everyone in hearing distance will hear him anyway, but it’s an excuse for Derek to lean into Stiles’ warmth and Stiles probably had ulterior reasons of that nature too. Allison smiles at them from across the table, and Lydia rolls her eyes at them. 

Greg makes conversation with Boyd for a while, and Stiles stuffs his face with steak and mashed potatoes and some of Lydia’s salad. 

Derek brushes some dressing from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and Stiles leans in to kiss him on the cheek, leaving it a little disgusting. Derek doesn’t clean it off.

Malia and Greg get into a pretty heated debate over hunting practices at around the time everyone’s having their second helpings, and Derek stares at them in interest for a while until Stiles jabs him on the ribs.

“You should’ve been here for introductions, big guy. Watering Malia’s story down for someone not supernaturally adjacent was pretty fucking hard. Somehow I didn’t think ‘hey, this is Malia, we found her in the woods. She spent most of her life as a coyote, her favorite food is deer and she likes floral prints’ would go over great.”

Derek snorts.

By dessert, Kira and Scott break their lawn chair and end up sprawled on the grass, looking sheepish. Malia laughs enough that she ends up wheezing, tears in the corners of her eyes.

Stiles shakes his head and leans into Derek’s frame, Derek puts an arm around him and it’s a perfect fit.

All in all, it’s a good night.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to everyone!  
> And thanks to LiteraryOblivion for running 12DaysofSterek :)
> 
> MemeKon: I want to give special thanks to majoliné for collaborating on this with me. You are an angel <3  
> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://memekon.tumblr.com)
> 
> majoliné: Thank you so much, MemeKon, for a great time! You're fantastic to work with :*  
> I technically live at [majoline](http://majoline.dreamwidth.org/) @ Dreamwidth, if you'd like to PM me (as of this posting I'm behind on updates).


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